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HAIL, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye
Say, what is Honour?—'Tis the finest sense
The martial courage of a day is vainAn empty noise of death the battle's roarIf vital hope be wanting to restore, Or fortitude be wanting to sustain, Armies or Kingdoms. We have heard a strain Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore A weight of hostile corses : drenched with gore Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain. Yet see, the mighty tumult overpast, Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold! And her Tyrolean Champion we behold Murdered like one ashore by shipwreck cast, Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold, To think that such assurance can stand fast!
Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight
Call not the royal Swede unfortunate